TWO PAINFUL YEARS LATER
I've often wondered what it feels like to go from a place of privilege to the very depths of hell, where every breath you take is a curse, and the only thing you can look forward to is the next moment of agony.
Two years. That's how long I've been trapped in this nightmare, confined to a cold, damp cell that reeks of death and decay. The stone walls press in on me, reminding me of my confinement, my helplessness. And the worst part? The Elidir.
It looks innocent enough-an iron brooch with a glass spider at its center. But it's no decoration. It's a weapon. A tool designed specifically to break people like me. The iron claws dig deep into my shoulder blade, latching onto my very soul. Whenever I so much as think about my fallen powers, the glass glows red, and the claws drive deeper into my flesh, sending waves of searing pain through my body. It's designed to stop people like me- a fallen-from accessing the power we were born with.
The Elidir makes sure I stay weak, and when combined with the wolfsbane they've coated my cell with, it's a miracle I'm still breathing.
The guards? They enjoy every second of my suffering. They bet on me. Take turns torturing me just to see how long it'll take before I pass out cold. It's a game to them. A sport. They push me against the cage walls, delighting in the way the wolfsbane burns my skin.
At first, I fought them. I screamed, begged, and cried for mercy. But eventually, the darkness became a comfort, a place to hide. When the pain became too much, I welcomed the void, praying it would swallow me whole, even if just for a little while.
But death-death never came.
Instead, I was left here to rot.
Two years of torment, humiliation, and degradation. And the worst part? I was still alive.
I hear footsteps echoing through the corridor, a sound that sends a cold shiver down my spine. I know what's coming. It's the same thing every day. They come to take me to the dining hall-my daily task. The guards, the nobles, they all have their fun, making a spectacle of me.
To make matters worse, the Queen who doted over me and braided my hair when I was little, calling me her daughter, hated me with all her might. She suggested all the punishments I suffered, always came to my cell to taunt and humiliate me. I wasn't a wolf, she would say. I only had the eyes of a wolf but I could never exhibit even the smallest of wolf abilities.
She was wrong but I never corrected her. I could hear even the smallest of sounds and the faintest of whispers three times more than an average wolf. My night vision was as clear as day and my sense of smell were very strong, I could smell the wolfsbane in the food they force fed me.
Everyone was happy; I could hear the laughter, the littlest of giggles and the gleeful chatter along with the banging of dishes and clatters of cutlery.
My food was no different from others but I was fed the leftovers. The bone remnants of the meat, the mashed potatoes maybe fallen on the floor and the smallest of soups. I was thankful with the days when the cooks had their hands full, I would have no wolfsbane in my food and I ate the leftovers like an abandoned dog scavenging for scraps.
Most times, I would be brought to pack up the dishes, but mainly for the Queen to have her fun at the table. She would spit on my face or pour drinks on my hair while everyone at the table laughed at my state. Sometimes I would be brought to the table with a collar on my neck, led by a leash and she would throw food on the floor, make me eat it like a dog. It was humiliating to be turned into their personal clown. She would taunt me with the food, my high sense of smell making it worse for me. My stomach would growl and everyone would laugh how pathetic I looked.
I never saw a mirror ever since I was taken, just mere glances from glasses as the guards led me to the table. I was a mess, my hair had thinned to dried wheat, my lips were chaffed and my grey eyes were as hollow was wells. I had lost ridiculous amount of weight.
The Iron Gate to my cell creaks open, and there he is-Regan. My "personal guard." I know the look in his eyes, the sickening grin he wears like a badge of honor. He's repulsive.
"The table waits," he says, his voice dripping with lust as his gaze sweeps over my frail form. I can't even muster the energy to flinch as his hand grazes my breast while he grabs my arm. The sensation is numb now, just another part of the torture I've grown used to.
He drags me from my cell, and I follow without resistance. It's pointless to fight. I've learned that the hard way.
As soon as I enter the dining hall, the princess, Chloe, lights up like she's just seen her favorite toy. Her excitement is palpable, and it makes me sick.
Before I can brace myself, a glass goblet comes flying at me. It shatters against the ground, the shards slicing through my skin like tiny daggers. Blood trickles from the cuts on my face, hands, and legs, but I don't cry out. I don't give her the satisfaction.
"Pick it up, you lunatic," Chloe sneers. "With your bare hands."
I feel the sting of the glass embedded in my palms as I kneel to gather the shards. My body shakes, not from fear, but from the deep-seated exhaustion that has settled into my bones. I can feel the tiny slivers of glass driving deeper into my skin with every movement.
But I don't cry.
I don't whimper.
I'm numb.
Chloe gasps dramatically, clutching her chest like she's on the verge of death. "Mum! She looked at me! Oh my goodness, my chest!"
Her voice is shrill, exaggerated for effect. I can hear the faintest tremor of fear beneath the theatrics, but it's buried under layers of cruelty.
The Queen rushes to her side, her face twisted in concern. "She used her fallen powers to hurt her!" she cries, pointing at me with a trembling hand.
I stand there, blood dripping from my hands, unable to defend myself. The Elidir hums at the base of my spine, ensuring that any use of my fallen powers would come with unbearable agony.
I didn't do anything.
I didn't have to. The Queen had been waiting for any excuse to punish me further. This was just another opportunity for her to twist the knife a little deeper.
"Deal with this mess," the King says, his voice heavy with disgust. He barely spares me a glance as he leaves the room. Four guards rush to me, yanking me off the ground with rough hands. I don't resist. I don't fight.
What's the point?
As they drag me out of the dining hall, I can hear the whispers.
"I don't know why the King can't just order her death like they did her mother."
"She's still part wolf," another guard replies. "She hasn't committed any crimes. The King can't kill her, not without just cause."
"Look at her," one guard sneers. "She's a sack of bones. Won't be long before she drops dead. Cursed is anyone mated to her."
Mated. The word sends a chill through my heart. There's no mate out there for me. No wolf would ever want me. I'm a monster. An abomination. Even if someone were fated to be my mate, they'd reject me the moment they saw me.
They throw me into my cell like a rag doll. My body crashes to the ground, and I feel their boots connect with my stomach, kicking me until the pain is so intense I can't breathe.
And then they leave.
I curl into myself, my arms wrapped around my knees as I lie on the cold, hard floor. The silence is deafening, but it's a relief compared to the taunts and jeers that fill the dining hall.
No friends. No family. No mate.
Nothing.
Nothing except the gnawing ache of hunger, the constant burning of the wolfsbane in my veins, and the unbearable weight of the Elidir buried in my shoulder.
The darkness calls to me again, sweet and inviting, and for a moment, I think about giving in. Maybe this time, I won't wake up.
But I know better.
Death never comes.
The Iron Gate creaks again, and I hear Regan's voice behind me.
"Tomorrow, same time. Don't keep the Queen waiting."
He's gone before I can respond-not that I would. I'm too tired, too broken.
I stare at the ceiling, my breath shallow and uneven, my vision blurring. My mind wanders, drifting to the memories of better days-when I was noble, when I was loved.
But those days are gone.
And so am I.
I have nothing,
But nothing doesn't even have me.